HOW I TAMED THE PLAY BOY

Chapter 4

"You are aware of the strategy. Williams, at this point all you need to do is concentrate. Keep from losing your concentration. How are the classes doing so far? I want nothing to take your attention away from what you're doing.

I reassured him that they were fine. I gave a slight shrug in the hopes that it would cause him to release his grip on me. It was successful, and I let out a sigh of relief. Even though it's only the first week of school, everyone seems to be doing well so far.

He muttered under his breath, "I should never have let you sign up for those Advanced Placement classes."

I did not want to engage in this conflict once more under any circumstances.

I was sure to point out to him that there were only two of them in all. "Only English and Biology," the speaker said. It won't be a problem."

You have to let me know as soon as one of those instructors gives you a grade of B for whatever they have assigned you.

"I will," I vowed to do it.

"And no girls," Dad emphasized. "If you want p***y, I'll buy you some p***y," he said. "f*****g purchase."

I grimaced and said, "Geez, Dad," as I turned my head away. "Not an issue, okay? Sincerely, I have to get some shut-eye as soon as possible."

"Are you going to run tomorrow? Six AM?"

“Yep.”

“Good.”

He then turned around and went into the kitchen, where he deposited the empty bottle of mineral water he had been drinking in the recycling bin. I made the most of the opportunity and dashed back to my room as fast as I could. After the door had been closed and secured, I was finally able to take deep breaths again. Before I went to brush my teeth in the restroom that was located down the hall, I undressed to my underwear and put on some comfortable jeans.

I looked in the mirror to examine the cut that had appeared on my forehead. It wasn't very serious, and there was absolutely no need for sutures or anything else of the sort. Before I went back to my room and perched on the edge of my bed, I cleaned the wound with antiseptic soap and applied a small amount of cream to it.

I reached down and picked out a sketchbook from the bottom shelf of my nightstand. Then, I turned the book to the last page, which contained a black and white painting of the goaltender for the United States national team making a save in the most recent World Cup qualification game.

Even before I started classes, I had been putting in some time on this particular project. When the art teacher, Ms. Dave, mentioned that there would be an art show the next month, I was like, "Well, fuck." I was thinking that it may be a good one to give to her and see if it could get into the exhibition, so I gave it to her. They were only going to choose ten pieces, so I didn't hold out much hope that mine would be one of those chosen. I knew it wasn't really artistic or anything like that because it was just a drawing of a soccer ball, but I still wanted to show it to her. It was a mystery to me why. I never showed anyone any of my drawings or paintings.

I took out my charcoal pencil and began adding a touch of shade to the side of the ball, which resulted in the ball having a little bit more dimension. I felt the goal worked out fairly nicely, despite the fact that it took a ridiculously long time to obtain all of the netting. I was aware that the angle on the right side of the goal was not quite accurate, and as a result, I ended up positioning the goalkeeper approximately half a foot off from where he actually was in the goal.

As the striker came closer and kicked the ball, I momentarily shut my eyes and pictured what was happening in the game in my thoughts. I was able to observe Tim Howard as he went to his left and bent at the knee at the ideal angle just before he leaped to get his hands on the ball. I was able to see this. Before I started drawing, I took a moment to closely examine the positioning of each of his gloved fingers in my head's image of the scene, which showed the ball coming dangerously close to making contact with his fingertips.

I kept drawing, and drawing, and drawing some more.

After giving it another glance, I saw that it was almost four in the morning. s**t. I just had two hours to complete the race. I positioned the sketchbook and charcoal pencil in their hiding location by placing a few copies of Goal magazine on top of them. I rolled over, turned off the lamp that was hanging over my bed, and then I sank onto the pillow.

In my mind, I played back the day in hypersonic speed, from the time I woke up to the end of the game, including every single instant of it, including my classes, warm-ups, and game play. each and every move, each and every sight, and each and every sound. I recalled that it took me twelve seconds longer to piss in the morning than it did the day before, and I recognized that I had consumed an additional glass of water to wash down the hot salsa at supper. There was a book in my locker with a crushed corner that wouldn't fit properly with the others since the corners weren't aligned properly.

As the forward player's leg swung, I recalled how he was obviously playing offside. If I had made an effort, I would have been able to stop it. I could still picture the tilt of the referee's eyebrow as he entered my information into the book. I remembered the feeling of terry cloth as I smashed into a female wearing a hoodie, as well as the little indentation of her teeth in her lower lip as she peered up at me. Both of these sensations came to my mind after I collided with the girl.

I rubbed my eyes vigorously while pressing the palms of my hands into my eye sockets. My skull was killing me. I slid over onto my stomach and wrapped my arms around my pillow before burying my face in the Egyptian linen case. I then rolled back over onto my back.

Before walking out to the practice field to perform some light jogging and kicking of the ball around, I washed down my prepared lunch with a large bottle of Gatorade. I had the place to myself, so I decided to practice my juggling skills and get in a few laps of running before heading inside to take a shower.

I gave my hair a quick shake, pulled my jeans up over my wet legs, and threw on a muscle shirt before heading out the door. When I stepped out of the locker room, the second bell was already ringing, but I didn't make any hasty decisions. As I made my way to my seat in Advanced Placement Biology, I turned down the center aisle and disregarded the stare that Mister Bucher was giving me.

Strangely, someone was sitting in the unoccupied seat in front of me, which is where I customarily put my feet.

Her back and shoulders were largely concealed by her shoulder-length hair, which had a light brown color. She had flawless complexion like porcelain, an athletic physique, and eyes the color of the deepest blue. She looked up at me with her teeth pressed into the bottom of her lip, and I immediately recognized her for who she was. It turned out to be the same girl who had smashed into me after I was eliminated from the game on Friday, and she had been seated directly in front of where I was sitting.

I crouched down behind her and leaned forward while tilting my head to the side in order to have a better look at her. She lowered her head, which caused her hair to fall over her shoulder and cover her face. She did this by tilting her head downward. In all honesty, the thought of it made my blood boil, but I couldn't place the cause in my mind. I moved over and brushed her hair behind her shoulder to get it away from her face and behind her neck. She glanced up at me with eyes as blue as sapphire that were quite wide open.

I greeted her with a friendly "Hey" and a grin on my face.

She responded with "Um...hi" She gave a slight tug back, and the strands of her hair that I was holding slid out of my grasp. At least I could finally see her without having to worry about being hidden.

"My name is Williams," I greeted her.

She responded by saying, "So I've heard." Her gaze jumped to Mister Bucher as he started his lesson about blue-green algae, and she stared at him intently.

"Do you have it now?" I smirked. I was curious to know exactly what she had heard and from whom she had heard it. "You got a name?"

“Yes.” She c****d her head to the side and focused her gaze on the instructor at the front of the room. She postured herself by crisscrossing her arms over her chest and hunching her shoulders.

It made me laugh out loud.

I questioned, "Want to tell me what it is, or do we get to play Rumple's tilt skin?"

I couldn't help but think of a few other games that would be fun to play with her.

“Phanuel?” Mister Bucher snapped. I raised my eyes to look at him. "Would you mind responding to my inquiry?"

The jerk was arrogant enough to believe he could trick me. I blinked my eyes a few times, then mentally pressed the rewind button in my thoughts, and then I looked up at the whiteboard.

I responded with a grin and the word "oxygen production." He huffed and growled something about maintaining my focus on the road in front of me.

Whatever.

I turned my attention back to the young lady in front of me and noticed that the corners of her mouth were slightly turned up, as if she were suppressing a giggle. I moved my desk forward with a scrape, getting a little bit closer to her, and extending one of my legs so that it was right next to her. I smiled at her. She gave a brief glance in my direction before immediately removing it.